“It appears that way,” Holly said.
Tom rubbed his chin. “What do we do?”
Holly shook her head. “There’s not much we can do,” she said, and Tom could see how much it pained her to say it. She paused for a moment. “Put it in the empty basket. I’ll talk to his ma.”
Tom folded the letter ever so carefully and placed it in the basket. Having lost his own father when he was only twelve, he felt for the boy.
For several moments, Tom and Holly worked quietly, each in their own thoughts. Holly was the first to break the silence. “Do you like staying at Mrs. Greenfield’s boardinghouse?” she asked.
“Holly, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m no longer stay—”
A knock sounded at the door, and Winston jumped up, barking.
While Tom calmed Winston, Holly rushed across the room to open the door. A man dressed in a frock coat, dark trousers, and a tall hat entered carrying a wooden crate. The man’s impeccable dress made Tom wish he hadn’t talked himself out of purchasing a new shirt.
“Mason asked me to drop off these wooden blocks,” the visitor said.
Looking pleased, Holly pointed to a corner. “Set them over there.”
After setting the crate on the floor, the man turned. Seeing Tom, his forehead creased with lines of curiosity. “Looks like you roped in another helper,” he said.
Holly made the introductions. “Nelson owns the hotel,” she said.
While Tom and Nelson shook hands, Winston growled. Not that Tom could blame him. Someone who spent as much time on appearances as Nelson had to have a character flaw somewhere. Tom just wished it was visible to more than just his dog.
If Nelson heard Winston’s low growls, he chose to ignore them. “You must be new in town. Don’t recall seeing you around.”
“I’ve been here for two weeks. My uncle recently passed away and left me his blacksmith shop.”
“Oh, so you’re a smithy.” Nelson somehow managed to make it sound like a lowly profession.
“Every town needs at least one,” Tom said evenly. That wasn’t necessarily true of hotels, but he bit down on his tongue to keep from saying it.
“And this,” Holly said, stooping to pet Winston on the head, “is Cupid.”
Ignoring the dog, Nelson turned his full attention on Holly. “The wind did a job on some of the decorations. But don’t worry, I’ve already got my crew working on them.”
Holly’s smile was as bright as the midday sun, and once again, Tom wished he had been the one to put it there.
“Thanks, Nel, you’re the best.”
Winston didn’t seem to like Nelson any more than Tom did. Or maybe he just didn’t like someone else getting all the attention. Whatever it was, Winston’s throaty growls rolled across the room like thunder.
Since Nelson obviously intended to stay, Tom decided he and Winston had best leave.
Holly saw them to the door. “Thank you for your help,” she said softly. “Do you have any free time tomorrow?”
Tom stepped out into the thin, cold air and turned. For some reason, her inquiry lifted his spirits. “After I close at six,” he said, trying not to sound too eager.
She afforded him a grateful smile. “I’d like to offer you a proper supper, but the kitchen is piled high with toys. If you don’t mind bread and cheese…”
The thought of sharing bread and cheese with Holly sounded like a meal made in heaven, but nevertheless he turned her offer down. “That’s all right. I’ll grab a bite at the Feedbag Café,” he said, not wanting her to go to any trouble on his behalf. A thought occurred to him and he brightened. “But I can bring you and your aunt something to eat.”
“That’s very kind of you to offer, but we’re fine,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
She offered him a quick smile before closing the door.
Tom shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Winston looked up at him and whimpered.
“Don’t blame me. You’re part of the reason why we had to leave. But don’t worry. We get to come back tomorrow.”
Tom tugged gently on the leash and started down the walkway. A fancy carriage drawn by a fine horse was parked in front of Holly’s house. Frowning, Tom headed back to the cold loneliness of his shop.
* * *
For the next several days, Tom quit work, cleaned up and, after wolfing down a quick supper at the Feedbag Café, made a beeline to Holly’s house to sort letters and toys.
Each night, the stacks of toys grew taller. The only chair safe from being taken over was Aunt Daisy’s. By Wednesday night, there was no place for Winston to lie down.
“Oh, you poor dog,” Holly said, and rearranged a pile of rag dolls to clear a spot for him.
After making Winston comfortable, she took her place opposite Tom.
“Where’s your aunt tonight?” Tom asked.
“Aunt Daisy’s literary group meets on Wednesday nights,” she said.
“So, your aunt likes to read?” Tom asked. All he’d ever seen her do was knit.
“No. She just enjoys the company.”
“She’s lucky she has you,” Tom said.
“Actually, I’m the lucky one. She and Grandpapa are the only family I have left. After my parents died, I was raised by my grandparents. When Grandpapa moved to the home, I invited her to come and live with me.”
They worked in silence for several minutes before Tom asked, “What did you decide about Joe-Joe?”
“Nothing yet. I haven’t had a chance to talk to his ma.” She thought for a moment. “How do you make a child feel safe when his little world has been turned upside down?”
“I wish I knew,” Tom said.
They spent the next two hours organizing the newly arrived toy donations. Finally, Holly clapped her hands to her chest and let out a happy little laugh. “That’s the last of it,” she announced. “All the children’s wishes will be granted.” She let out an audible sigh. “Except for Joe-Joe’s.”
Tom craned his head to look at her over the mountain-high stack of building blocks. He marveled at how she could do so much for so many and still bemoan the one child she couldn’t help.
“I’m afraid that’s out of Santa’s hands,” he said.
“I was hoping for a miracle.”
He glanced around the room. “I’d say this is a roomful of miracles,” he said. “I just wish there was something more I could do.”
She smiled up at him. “You’ve done enough. The rest is up to Santa’s elves, also known as parents.”
“I…guess you won’t be needing me anymore,” Tom said. He watched her face, hoping the realization was as disappointing to her as it was to him.
“’Fraid not,” she said, giving him no clue as to what she was thinking.
“Holly—”
He’d meant to ask her out, but before he had a chance, the door opened, and Aunt Daisy stepped inside, letting in a cold draft. “Are you two still at it?”
“We’re finished,” Holly announced.
Aunt Daisy pulled off her knitted gloves and scarf. “It’s about time,” she said.
Since Tom couldn’t think of a legitimate reason to postpone his departure, he reached for Winston’s leash and dropped to his haunches. “Come on, boy. Time to go.”
Winston looked as reluctant to leave as Tom felt.
Seven
The school auditorium was packed the night of the pageant. Normally, such a large turnout would have delighted Holly. Tonight, she’d rather that a snowstorm or something had kept people home.
So far, everything that could go wrong had. Holly thought that letting Joe-Joe play Joseph would make him feel important and give him much-needed confidence. Last year before his father died, he’d played one of the shepherds with no problems.
&nbs
p; However, he now had a bad case of stage fright, and it required much in the way of persuasion to convince him to take his place. That was the least of it.
One of the wise men accidentally fell into the manger, overturning it and sending baby Jesus bouncing across the stage. The doll’s head popped off, and its owner, Susie Whittaker, promptly burst into tears. It wouldn’t have been so bad had Susie not been the same little girl who played Mary.
Not even Grandpapa’s dissonant singing could distract the audience from Mary’s sobs. Nor could anyone ignore the fact that the little boy who played Joseph had suddenly vanished. During the confusion with the doll, Joe-Joe had run offstage, and neither Holly nor his mother could convince him to return.
The moment the last fa, la, la faded away, Holly took center stage and faced now what were mostly empty seats. Even Nelson had sneaked out sometime midproduction.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she said, her voice sounding hollow in the near-deserted auditorium. “I wish you and your families a very merry Christmas.”
Wondering if she only imagined the collective sigh of the few remaining people, she turned, only to be stopped by the sound of loud clapping. She glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to spot Tom at the back of the room. He was the only one clapping, and his encouraging smile and enthusiastic applause touched her heart. Suddenly, it was necessary to blink back tears.
“What do you think?” her grandfather asked, drawing her attention away from the lone figure at the back of the auditorium.
She gave Grandpapa a hug and stood on tiptoes to speak directly in his ear. “You did good,” she said, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
“You did, too, Holly,” he said.
A quick glance over her shoulder told her that Tom had left. Still, for her grandfather’s sake, she forced a smile.
Looking pleased, he puffed out his chest. “We decided to give our singing group a name.”
Mrs. Stone leaned on her cane and interjected. “We’re calling ourselves the Ransom Notes.”
Holly laughed. Since the group butchered every song they sang, the name certainly did fit the crime.
Her grandfather gave her a knowing look. “From what I hear, the Ransom Notes will soon be needed again.”
“Oh?” Holly asked.
“Daisy said that wedding bells are about to ring.”
“Nothing’s definite,” Holly said. It would have been nice if Nelson had stayed to the end of the program. Didn’t he know that she could use a friendly shoulder to cry on? Had the roles been reversed, she would have been there for him.
Her grandfather nodded. “Let us know and we’ll get to work.”
Holly sighed. Her grandfather meant well, but the thought of his singing at her wedding was enough to make her want to opt for spinsterhood.
“We gotta go,” Grandpapa said. “Our chaperone is waiting.” He slanted his head toward the man standing offstage.
“Mr. Evans is not a chaperone,” Holly said. “He’s just here to make sure you all get back safely.”
“Yeah, like I said. A chaperone.”
Watching her grandfather and his friends walk offstage, Holly felt very much alone. She picked up the headless doll and, sitting on a child-sized chair, laid it in the manger. Susie didn’t know it, but Santa had a special gift in mind for her—a pretty porcelain doll.
If only she could think of a way to make Joe-Joe feel better. He used to be such a fun, outgoing child. Holly hated seeing him so insecure and fearful.
Elbows on her knees, she dropped her face in her hands. All she’d wanted was to make this Christmas a special one for a town that had gone through hard times. The decorations were pretty much destroyed, the pageant was a disaster, and at least two children had been traumatized. What more could possibly go wrong?
Hearing footsteps, she looked up. Tom stood on the other side of the manger holding two tin cups in his hand. “I have it on the best authority that in times like this, only hot cocoa will do.” He handed her a cup over the manger. “Am I wrong?”
Sitting back in surprise, she took the steaming cup in both hands and shook her head. “Not at all.”
He lowered himself onto the seat next to her, the chair so small his knees practically reached his shoulders.
She laughed.
He raised a dark brow. “What’s so funny?”
“You,” she said. “There are larger chairs backstage.”
“I’m okay. Sometimes it’s a good idea to view the world from a child’s viewpoint.”
Surprised at his answer, she looked at him intently. A pleasant whiff of his aftershave made her want to lean in closer. Funny, but she hadn’t really noticed how handsome he was until tonight. It took a keen eye to look past his sharp features to the soft curve of his mouth; the gentle brown depths of his eyes.
“Where’s Cupid?” she asked.
“Eh…home,” he said. “I didn’t think you needed a dog jumping all over you with everything else going on.”
She blew on her cocoa and took a sip. The cocoa was just the right temperature, neither too hot nor too cold. “Delicious,” she said, savoring the sweetness it left in her mouth. Valuing Tom’s company even more.
“I asked for marshmallows, but the Feedbag Café was plumb out of them,” he said.
“It’s still good.” Staring at the headless doll, she cringed. “It was awful, wasn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t say awful,” he said. “Let’s just say it was different. It’s not every day that you see Jesus lose his head.”
She shuddered. The more she thought about it, the worse the whole thing seemed. “Poor Susie. That was her favorite doll.”
“Sounds like a problem that only Santa can fix.”
She sighed. “I wish Joe-Joe’s problem could be so easily remedied. I thought letting him play Joseph would make him feel better and bring him out of his shell. I was wrong.”
Tom sat back. “Joe-Joe was Joseph?”
She nodded. “I’m afraid I only made things worse.”
Sympathetic eyes met hers. “You can’t solve all the problems of the world.”
“It’s not the world’s problems I want to solve,” she said. “Just the problem of one little boy.”
“I wish there was something I could do to help,” he said.
She smiled. “You being here helps,” she said, surprised at how much she meant it. “And so does this,” she added, raising her cup.
They sipped their cocoa in companionable silence for several moments, before Holly told him about her grandfather’s singing group. “They’re naming it the Ransom Notes.”
His eyes twinkled with a glint of humor. “Maybe Random Notes would be more apt.”
Holly laughed. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could make her laugh after what had happened, but somehow that’s exactly what Tom had done.
“The only good thing that could be said about tonight is that you’ll never have to put up with another rehearsal.”
He looked as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated.
She tilted her head in question. “Something wrong?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, but after I left the barn that night, Mrs. Greenfield kicked me out of the boardinghouse.”
Holly gasped. “Oh, no! Because of Cupid’s barking?”
Tom shrugged. “Like I said, he’s got sensitive ears. I was warned what would happen if I didn’t keep him quiet.”
“It was all my fault…” She felt terrible. “I’m so sorry. Where are you staying?”
“For now, at the shop. I haven’t had any luck in finding a place that will accept dogs.”
“I’ll talk to Nelson,” she said. “He owns a lot of property. Maybe he can think of a place for you to stay.”
Tom frowned but said nothing. Instead, he took the emp
ty cup out of her hands and stood. “Come on. I’ll walk you home. And if you’re good, we can stop by and say hello to Winston.”
“You mean Cupid,” she said, and they both laughed.
Eight
The morning after the pageant, Tom battled his way out of his cot with one thing in mind. He had to find a dog-friendly place to live. That’s all there was to it.
The alternative was to buy his own place, but he still hadn’t decided whether to make Haywire his permanent home. The town was smaller—a lot smaller—than San Antoine and that meant less business. On the other hand, Haywire had one very important thing in its favor, and her name was Holly Sanders.
Not that he thought he had a chance with her. But after what had happened last night…
He stopped himself. Nothing had happened last night. He and Holly had shared hot cocoa, and he’d walked the lady home. Period. He’d not even tried for a good-night kiss, though admittedly the thought had crossed his mind.
He was in no position to get involved with a woman. His life was too unsettled; too many obstacles loomed ahead. Romance would have to wait.
Still, there was no denying how much he liked spending time with her. He liked knowing he could make her smile even after a disastrous pageant. Make her laugh even after things had gone so wrong. But that was as far as it went. Had to be.
Besides, next to that dandy, Nelson Parker, Tom didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning the lady over. Given a choice between a real estate tycoon and the unsettled—make that homeless—owner of a blacksmith shop, a woman would have to be crazy to pick him.
But it wasn’t just Holly on his mind. Since last night’s pageant, he couldn’t stop thinking about Joe-Joe. The boy’s letter had been touching—no question. But seeing the fatherless seven-year-old onstage looking lost and scared made his plight seem that much more real. Tom wanted to do something, but what? If someone like Nelson Parker with all his resources and money couldn’t help the boy, what possible chance did Tom have?
* * *
Holly gave herself a critical look in the mirror. Her hair was arranged on top of her head in a fashionable bun. Tendrils coaxed into obedience by Aunt Daisy’s curling iron fell gracefully around her face.
Longing for a Cowboy Christmas Page 26